Candied Yams And Thanksgiving Spirit
by saysesydo
Summary: Mycroft forces Sherlock to come to his thanksgiving feast, Sherlock forces John to come with him. Can Sherlock and John manage a normal family meal?


Hello! Well I'm thoroughly enjoying watching Sherlock and reading the great fanfiction out there. So I thought I'd have my go at it as well.

This is slightly Americanized, because I just wanted to celebrate Thanksgiving with Sherlock and John. Cracky.

...

Sherlock stormed into the flat, threw his jacket unceremoniously onto the crowded coffee table, and fell onto the sofa. He heaved a frustrated sigh and settled into the all-knowing childish pout.

John, who was sitting at the dining room table reading the newspaper, barely spared a glance up.

"Mycroft?" John asked.

"Yes!" he huffed, "How did you, guess?"

"I think Mycroft's the only one that can piss you off so much," John looked up and smiled at Sherlock, "aside from myself, of course." All he had to do was leave some insulting remark in his blog and it would leave Sherlock in tailspin.

"Mm," he mumbled, not at all amused.

"So what did he do this time?"

"Mycroft wants me to go to his thanksgiving dinner."

John put down the newspaper.

"Well, you're not going to go are you?" The thought of Sherlock Holmes sitting calmly at a table, with a napkin in his lap and eating copious amounts of food was just plain unbelievable.  
>"I <em>have <em>to!" Sherlock pouted.

"Why?"

"Because if I don't, Mycroft has threatened to have me arrested for breaking and entering."

"Wh-What? When did you do that?"

"Last Tuesday. It was for a case," he waved it off as if it were nothing.

John nodded. He picked the newspaper back up and began looking for another interesting article. He leaned back in the chair and put his feet on the table.

"Well that sucks for you," he said. For thanksgiving he was going to enjoy his time off, drink some tea, maybe he would even visit Harry. He hadn't talked to her in a while, and though he didn't like her all that much, she was his sister-

"You're coming too," Sherlock's voice cut him off from his musings.

His feet made a loud thud when they landed back on the wood floor.  
>"What?"<p>

"You're coming too," Sherlock repeated calmly, as if it were a well-known fact.

"No I'm not," said John firmly.

"If you don't…I'll just have to stop labeling my samples in the fridge."

John opened his mouth. That was about the only thing that stopped him from accidently picking up blood instead tomato soup, or urine instead of lemonade.

"You wouldn't."

Sherlock gave him the look when he felt John was being extra idiotic.

"You-you know what? I don't care," John said adamantly, turning back to his newspaper. But it was much less interesting now.

"Don't you?" Sherlock sighed.

John stood up.

"I _refuse_," he said, "to give into your idiotic childish threats. I'm not going. I'm not."

...

Three days later, John found himself seated across from Mycroft and next to Sherlock, with a large turkey in the middle of a table full of food, desperately thinking of some kind of revenge on Sherlock for forcing him to come to this dinner.

There were many other people, about fifteen, whom John assumed to be family members and possibly Mycroft's coworkers. Sherlock's mother, who sat next to Mycroft, was introduced to John earlier by Mycroft, though she looked so much like Sherlock that John could have guessed. She seemed like a pleasant woman, though fairly proper, like her elder son. In fact this whole dinner seemed fairly proper.

Like any proper dinner there was more than one fork, one knife, and one spoon. The plates were stark white, and under them were very expensive looking table matts. There were two glasses per person, one expensive looking wine glass and another regular one. The table had two vases of very nice flowers. And above the table was a chandelier.

How Sherlock had grown up in such an expensive and proper family and turned out to be what he was, John would never be able to figure out.

After about thirty minutes of eating and listening to Mycroft and his family talk about government, John felt himself pretty full. He had eaten a good deal of turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and what he really enjoyed, candied yams. Sherlock on the other hand, being himself, barely ate anything. Though for his standards it was quite a lot. John found himself vaguely impressed.

However, Sherlock's mother was not.

"Sherlock, darling, you've barely eaten a thing. Why don't you have more turkey? It's quite good, and I think you could do with some more meat on your bones."

Sherlock seemed slightly embarrassed at his mother's attentions and the fact that she had just called him _darling_ (a fact that desperately made John want to giggle), though most of the guest's weren't paying attention and were absorbed in conversations amongst themselves.

"Thank you, mother," said Sherlock. John nearly chocked. "But I've already had enough and I'm quite full."

John had to keep himself from staring at Sherlock. Was this how Sherlock always talked around his mother?

"Oh please!" Mycroft said, "All you've eaten is some salad and a strip of turkey. That's hardly enough for a thanksgiving meal."

Sherlock stared coldly a Mycroft.

"I've also had a biscuit. And that is far more than I usually eat on a daily basis."

It took only about half a second for John to realize his opportunity. Yes! This was his opportunity for revenge on Sherlock, for making him come to this, although delicious, extremely boring meal. It would be petty but he knew that it would annoy Sherlock to no end.

So he took it:

"What do you mean, Sherlock?" picking up the formal tone that Sherlock's family used. It wasn't so formal that it would be considered mocking to anyone but Sherlock.

Sherlock glanced at him with that rare, but amusing, confused expression.

"You usually eat so much at home," John continued, "I don't understand why you're not eating more now."

There was a split second where Sherlock's eyes widened in disbelief, but they quickly narrowed when he understood. A dark expression fell over his face, and John could almost hear him say, _I __**will **__get you back for this._ And John knew that he would. But he was enjoying himself far too much to worry about it.

"Why don't you have some of those candied yams? They're quite good."

John turned back to his plate and stabbed his fork into the salad on his plate as if to make a point. He took a bite and looked back at Sherlock, who was still staring at him darkly, and smiled innocently.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes even further, but instead of making his usual sarcastic retorts, he turned to the candied yams.

"Very well, John," Sherlock had also picked up the formal tone by now. He picked up the candied yams and served them onto his own plate. For the second time that night, John had nearly chocked. Was Sherlock really going to do what John told him to do without some kind of argument? John hid his surprise by turning back to his plate. He would not give Sherlock the satisfaction of knowing that he surprised John.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sherlock take a bite out of the yams.

"You're right John! These are quite good," said Sherlock. John just guffawed at his plate. Was Sherlock sick?

"You know what? I think you should have some more," Sherlock continued.

Before John could respond, something moist, warm and mushy landed on the side of his cheek.

It smelled distinctly of those candied yams.

John turned to Sherlock in disbelief.

Though the two didn't notice, a wave a silence began to sweep across the table, as everyone realized what had just occurred. All conversations were dropped, and attention was diverted to the two flat mates. Mycroft and his mother were frozen in their seats.

Sherlock put down the spoon he had used to fling the yams at John. "Oh, I'm sorry, John. The spoon must have _slipped_ from my fingers."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in smugness. Or was it a challenge?

John used his napkin to wipe the yams from his face and turned to his plate, thoroughly annoyed and thinking of his next plan of action.

"Quite all right Sherlock."

He glanced at his wine glass and smiled.  
>"You know what goes <em>really<em> well with those candied yams?" asked John. Sherlock responded with a blank look, "the wine."

John picked up Sherlock's wine glass and poured the contents of it onto his black curls.

Mycroft, who was watching the scene, stood up, and interrupted the flat mates' private battle, "That's enough!"

For the moment, John had realized what he'd done and felt terribly bad about it. His eyes widened. How could he, Army Doctor John Watson, commit such a childish act? He was completely ashamed of himself.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry Mycroft, Ms. Holmes. I'm so sorry. I will never-" But he stopped when the entire serving of the candied yams was poured onto the top of his head. He completely forgot about his shame, Mycroft, his mom, and all the other guests.

This was war.

...

The cab drive back to 221B Baker Street was initially silent, the angry yells of Mycroft and their mother echoing through their heads. Both Sherlock and John were covered in cranberry sauce, wine, stuffing, cheese cake, and of course the candied yams, as they hadn't had time to clean themselves up before being angrily shoved out of the house.

John ran the night's absurd events through his head.

He snorted.

Sherlock looked at him darkly. John cleared his throat. They stared at each other for two seconds.

Then they both burst out into fits of laughter that lasted nearly the whole ride home.

"Well, I don't think Mycroft will be inviting us again for dinner, any time soon," said Sherlock as he shut the flat door behind them.

John who was still slightly breathless from laughter said, "No. And I think that is the last time they will ever have candied yams for thanksgiving."

They both giggled, took their showers, and went to bed supremely satisfied at having had a wonderful, though completely abnormal, thanksgiving night.

...

Was is too silly?

Was it funny? I thought it was funny when I was writing, but it's different reading it I guess. Please let me know. I take constructive criticism well.

Please Please Please R&R.

Also if anyone wants to Beta this that would be great.


End file.
